


From the Altar to the Cradle

by Fernajen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Breastfeeding, Child Abandonment, F/M, Gen, Hela mentioned, Human Sacrifice, Hurt/Comfort, Laufey mentioned, Odin is arrogant, Pre-Thor (2011), aftermath of war, cynical fluff, disfigurement aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22140505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fernajen/pseuds/Fernajen
Summary: Odin tells himself that he's just being rational and doing what is best for Asgard. Afterall, what else is he supposed to do with an abandoned prince? Let some nobleman raise him?
Relationships: Frigga | Freyja/Odin (Marvel), Loki & Odin (Marvel), Odin & Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 47





	1. Foundling

**Author's Note:**

> I fully recognize that Odin is an almost compulsive liar. But this story goes on the idea that he was telling the truth about finding an abandoned Loki. Between the flashback and Laufey's willingness to believe that Loki wanted to kill Odin, I'm inclined to believe Odin on this one.

“Allfather!” The young soldier dropped to his knees in a sharp but reverent gesture. Odin pursed his lips. Idiot. They were on a battlefield - stilled, yes, but a battlefield nonetheless. A simple bow would have been better.

“Rise.” Odin’s voice was crisp as he indicated to the snowbank the soldier was kneeling in. “I cannot risk my soldiers’ knees to frostbite. Nor can you afford to waste time regaining your footing should we be attacked.

The soldier’s eyes went wide as he scrambled to his feet. “Yes. Allfather.”

“I assume you’re here for a purpose other than dipping your knees in the ice.”

“Yes, Allfather. The northern battalion sends their report. The perimeter is secure.”

Odin nodded. “Good. I shall go into the temple. Remain outside; make certain no one attempts to sneak in behind me.” Odin then turned, barely registering the soldier’s reply and departure. His battered body wanted nothing more than to return home to his pregnant wife. But, he reminded himself, this battle would not be over until he took the Casket. 

Somehow the temple of Ymir had grown even more forbidding against the bloodstained ground. Odin marched towards it, his spear Gungnir in hand, his newly empty eye socket stinging with cold, his good eye watering from the new strain on it. It was strange to him that he couldn’t smell the blood in the air. Had this battle taken place on a warmer realm, he would probably have been able to taste it on his tongue. A small mercy from a world that casually took fingers and toes without effort. 

Laufey had presumed the loss of Hela crippled Odin, and tried to steal Midgard like a ferret plundering an unguarded nest. In return, Odin did what must be done, just as he had done with Hela. He could not allow the Nine Realms to run amok.

As Odin methodically scanned the hallways, he couldn’t help but give a morbid chuckle. In a twisted way, Laufey’s arrogance had been fortuitous; protecting Midgard helped Odin bury his sins for indulging Hela. Instead, he was now the savior of the Nine Realms, and, better yet, he could take the Casket of Winters without resorting to petty looting. True, he and Asgard had paid a hefty price with today’s fighting; the darkness in his eye would always remind him of that price. But perhaps that cost could repay itself many times over with Laufey’s defeat.

Of course, all of that depended on securing the temple and its valuable assets. Not that it was much to look at. The Temple of Ymir was a tribute to the joylessness of Jotunheim. 

As Odin passed the outer temple rooms into the more narrow corridors, he slowed his pace to prepare for a possible ambush. Odin kept Gungnir high, careful not to let it drag on the ground. The cold bit at his face and limbs, and his head ached trying to make sense of his surroundings with only half his sight. Unfortunately, his instincts had yet to adjust to his new blindspots, as he managed to catch his spear not just once, but three times in fixtures in the wall. Each mistake earned a curse from Odin, as he ripped his spear free and spun to meet would-be attackers. After the third time, as the new shards of an ancient pot spun around him, Odin cursed, “I am a fool, for entering alone.” He shook his head. No use backing out now, he knew, but until he found the Casket he was at a serious disadvantage should a foe decide to attack him.

As Odin winced at his foolishness, his ears caught the uncomfortably shrill cries of an infant. A local family must have taken shelter here during the battle."Surrender yourselves!" Odin called out - to whoever was taking care of said infant. "I do not wish for further bloodshed!" Nor, he thought, did he want any political fallout from a dead infant. 

Seemingly in response, the wails became louder and took on a frantic tone. It was a knife to his eardrums, which somehow miraculously pushed its way past the pain of all his other injuries. Odin winced with his good eye. "Surrender, and you and your child will be safe. You have my word.”

Still no answer. For a small moment the baby was silent, and Odin hoped the family found a back passage out of the temple. Then, the unseen child redoubled its screaming. Odin cursed inwardly. This could only mean trouble. Odds were, whoever was with the baby was using the screams to cover any of their movements. It was a clever, if cruel, tactic. And not one he wished to deal with in his current state. 

Hesitating only a moment, Odin held Gungnir at the ready as he crept warily but quickly towards the chamber where the cries seemed to originate. Strangely, the room appeared empty of any -. 

Odin's lips parted slightly, as his gaze found the source of the noise. Lying on an altar was the small baby, shrill with frustration, without another soul in the room to care for it. Immediately, Odin whipped around to meet the fury of potential ambushers - yet met only air. He whipped back his head again towards the child, shock clear on his face. He had expected an assailant who hoped to lull him into complacency... yet there was no one. No one, except the baby.

Regaining his wits, Odin walked briskly towards the crying child. The altar holding the infant was made from a bland ice encrusted stone, with - Odin noticed with some surprise - . the Casket of Winter sitting behind the altar on a pedestal, its faint but harsh light flickering over the baby.

Odin picked up the child with one arm, keeping his weapon ready in the other. The weeping turned from growling to whimpering. The little one’s skin was cold and clammy to the touch. He looked over the infant, carefully checking for injuries. As far as Odin could tell there were no obvious wounds, but no one had bothered to change the poor thing’s diaper since yesterday. The baby’s rump was covered in what Odin figured was the Johtan equivalent of a diaper rash. Unfortunately, he didn’t have anything to replace the nasty diaper, so the little boy would have to suffer it a little while longer. 

Methodical markings covered the infant's body, particularly on the top of the head. The pattern was stylized in an unnatural way. The skin looked slightly raised, causing Odin to suspect that they were more than a simple tattoo. Ritual scarring, maybe? He was able to recognize some of the symbols. They were complex, and invoked a great deal of their culture - but he could make out from the markings the words 'royalty, son of Laufey,' and, disturbingly, 'sacrifice.' 

Each mark on that little body looked inflamed with pain. Odin could take the pain away... and he would. He gently stroked the baby's head. The blue gave way to beige, the marks faded into nothing. He could feel the skin warm under his fingers as the spell altered the Johtan into something more like an Asgardian. The crying ceased and the ghost of a smile flashed over the child's face.

"There now." Odin wrapped the baby up with his cape, wishing he had something better to offer. Looking at the child, Odin hesitated only for a moment before adding, "Let's go home."


	2. Politics and Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin marshalls his men and makes preparations to leave, with Loki hidden at this side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was going to two chapters long. But as we were going over the draft my husband convinced me that there was a natural chapter break that needed to be adhered to.  
> Thank you to everyone who gave me feedback. I really appreciate it. I'm sorry I take forever to edit my stuff, especially with all the craziness that going on right now. Hopefully, chapter three takes less time.  
> Enjoy!

Odin proceeded briskly out of the temple of Ymir, spear held at his one side, a small bundle held at the other - and the Casket of Winters tied to his side. Instinctively, Odin turned towards the Einherjar gathered near the entrance. Each soldier stood at the ready, weapons drawn but at their side. Their orders were clear - it was Odin’s honor and responsibility to enter the temple first, but it was theirs to ensure anything of value and dangerous to Asgard was removed. Odin absently waved his hand behind him, and the Einherjar marched inward. 

None of them noticed that Odin was holding a baby. Nor would they. Frigga had taught him more than one trick for concealing items; Odin’s men would see what they wanted to see, and go on with their duties. No need to inform his men that he had a Jotun child, especially not while they work to secure the realm. 

Marching forward from the temple, it suddenly dawned on Odin that he was instinctively ignoring the cold - which had begun to bite harder without the temple walls to protect himself. He looked down at the bundle held in his left arm, holding his cloak to protect the small boy in his arms. The baby surprisingly seemed content - and, Odin observed, he had snuggled in quite comfortably. He'd almost forgotten what that was like. It had been hundreds of years since Hela had snuggled with him like that. He smiled at the boy, and felt a stab of vindictive satisfaction that the Johtan priests would find their altar sacrifice-less. Pity he wouldn’t get to see the pandemonium. 

Instinctively, Odin bounced in a gentle rocking motion as he passed through baby names absently. There was a fifty percent chance that he could simply name the little boy Thor, but then he’d have to wait until Frigga gave birth. And if Frigga did give birth to a boy then he could instea-

“My lord,” General Tyr approached Odin. “Laufey has submitted to the unconditional surrender.”

Odin brow furrowed. Of course. The battle. He must focus. “I’m aware. I forced him to yield myself.” Maybe he should just name the baby Balder... 

“Yes, my lord but Laufey is attempting to- well, put his own spin on things.”

“To save face with his own people, I presume.” Yes, Balder is a nice gender-neutral name, Frigga might disagree, but -. 

“I would presume that is his object.”

“Has he said anything that might damage any long term peace?”

“Mostly he’s making you out to be a tyrant with your bootheel in his neck.”

“That was to be expected.” Odin’s lips twitched, and he shook his head, forcing himself into the present. Laufey, the fool. He might be a formidable foe on the battlefield, but he was a woefully clumsy player in the game of politics. After all, it might be acceptable in Jotunheim to commit infanticide, but even he should have known that outside kingdoms do not trust such bloodlust. 

Odin stopped, and glanced downward briefly. In his arms, he held a brutal weapon that could crush Laufey’s political power. If played right, this child could reveal to Johtanheim that Laufey was either a would-be child killer, or a weakling that denied their gods their rightful offering. Perhaps Odin could-.

No. The baby would be a last resort. After all, Odin had plenty of other tricks up his sleeves. Meeting Tyr’s gaze, Odin said, “We have the casket. As long as we play our cards right a treaty might come out of this. Keep me informed of further developments”

“Of course.” Tyr bowed and rejoined the men.

Hopefully, Frigga wouldn’t try to name him Hodar. If she did then- 

He stiffened. Frigga was going to kill him. By the nine, she might have already given birth, and yet he planned to drop a second - or, Norns forbid, a third - child right onto her arms. Hela by herself had been a challenge, and he hadn't been the one staying awake all night to feed her. Perhaps keeping the child was not the best idea. Maybe a trusted lord or worthy Einherjar could look after his son... 

His son. Instinctively, Odin’s stomach bubbled with jealousy. He couldn’t think of anyone to raise this child properly. None of his vassals understood what it meant to be royalty, and if the day came that the boy needed to rule Jotunheim, all of them would leave him underprepared. Regardless, abandoned or not, this child was a prince and had suffered enough indignities without being raised by a mere lord. 

Odin smiled at the child, his thoughts now working faster than he could keep track of them. “I know,” He whispered as his fingers rolled in a gentle circle on the infant’s back, “Frigga can’t balk at having two monarchs call her mother. After all, Jotunheim could do with a better king, and that king shall be you.” Odin gave a small chuckle. “Besides, your mother can always get a nurse to help her, and I think you'd not mind the extra company."

Almost in response, the boy turned his head to the side and opened his mouth in a frantic motion. Odin quickly cast a spell on the child to make him sleep. He knew from experience a hungry baby was an angry baby. The spell would provide a temporary fix, but it wouldn’t last long, and it certainly wouldn’t fill the baby’s stomach.

“Tyr?” Odin beckoned. The general turned from a group of soldiers, as the baby whimpered in his sleep. “Have the injured and dead been counted?”

“Yes, my Lord, though a number are still considered missing.” Tyr said, walking back from the soldiers as he began tallying the after-battle reports. Odin, however, had stopped listening. The child was stirring and his small lips puckered. Odin knew that what little he learned from Frigga would not hide a full screech. 

Somewhat abruptly, Odin raised his hand to stop Tyr. No one would question his wishes with the Casket in his care. “I trust that your tallies have been faithful and accurate. Have the healers ready the injured and marshall the men. Give the appropriate orders to our occupying forces. I wish to leave this Hel blighted realm.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter should have have Frigga... unless (for some odd reason) Eir's part gets massively expanded into its own chapter.


	3. False Alarms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's official. I'm terrible at gauging how many chapters it's going to take to tell a story. My husband wants to credit for my failure. I think he's just trying to be nice.  
> This chapter has been rewritten a few times. Originally, this part was written from Odin POV but it was soon realized that Eir's POV allowed me   
> to explore some interesting ramifications.   
> Warning, some of Eir's medical findings lead to the characters having some fairly dark theories. They only touch lightly on the ideas because I don't want to think too hard about it.

Eir sat in the healing rooms with her eyes closed, the dawn's light beginning to appear through the window. After the madness of the night before, the room’s cleanliness felt surreal.The queen had gone into labor after midnight, and - while births were a messy business - Allmother’s delivery had pushed nearly each member of her staff to their limits.

As head healer, Eir had exercised her right to remain on call for the delivery while most of her fellow healers attended the wounded in battle. Fortunately, those healers had not been needed; the boy was perfectly healthy. Frigga did require six stitches, but considering the size of Thor’s cranium, it could’ve been worse. 

Instead, her own attendants had received the more serious injuries. Eir grimaced, making a note to disarm her future patients in the beginning stages of labor. Trying to take the queen’s sword away while giving the new prince a safe delivery was an unneeded - and unprecedented - complication. Truth be told, it had been easier dealing with brawling inebriated soldiers during winter solstice festival.

The door to the healing room opened. Of course. Eir bit back several hundred curses; She was too tired for another patient. But such was her life. Steeling herself, Eir opened her eyes, as the Allfather walked in - and with a conspicuously missing eye. 

By the nine. Eir moved forward, her weariness departing under the weight of her training. At least the Allfather had for once given the courtesy of seeking her help, instead of having her chase him down - though why he had stopped to carry his son up from Frigga was beyond... 

Eir stopped, and opened her mouth for a moment before closing it in confusion. She blinked. Is that the prince? Are her eyes playing tricks on her? She shook her head, then looked again. No. That - that wasn’t the prince. The prince, being less than a day old, still had the newborn look to him. This child had lost some of that. He  _ almost  _ had the newborn look, but was slightly larger, making him maybe a week old at most.

Eir’s glance fell again on the Allfather’s missing eye. What in the name of all the realms is the Allfather doing with another mother’s child at this hour? Should she just ignore it for the moment? … No, she had a duty to all that came into her healing room. Not to mention her own skin. She needed to know what was going on first, before getting trapped in - well, whatever this was. 

“Allfather,” She ventured forward, tilting her head to the side, searching for the right diplomatic words. “Who have you honored by carrying their child about?” 

“I am not honoring his parents.”

Draugr spit. “My lord, I don’t understand.”

“I need to check his health.” Odin’s face remained matter-of-fact, though he instinctively bounced the child as they spoke. 

“That can easily be done.” She folded her arms. “Though, normally, a parent comes with the child in these situations.” Eir cringed inwardly; not jumping to the Allfather’s commands was a dangerous game. But details first. 

“This situation is unique.”

“Odin, whose child is this? It will do the child little good if I cannot share my findings with those who care for him.” 

Odin hesitated, briefly glancing at the boy. “I found him in the wastes of Jotunheim”

Eir suppressed a sigh. An Asguardian babe, “found” in the middle of Jotunheim? And he felt the need to personally kidnap him to Asgard? Oh, Allfather. Poor Frigga will be very distraught when she hears of this. Best not to return her sword for a while. “Does he have any frostbite?”

“No.” Odin said. “He wouldn’t.” 

Eir felt her face scrunch. He “wouldn’t.” That ruled out the army’s washer women. Surely he wouldn’t have gone after one of Jotunheim’s locals, though... would he?

Odin, perhaps reading her thoughts, shook his head and then shot her a hard look, “Eir, I altered his appearance. He’s a Jotun runt.”

“A Jotun runt?” That was an odd lie. Why admit the child is a Jotun? The political backlash alone would be, at best, inconvenient. Maybe the child wasn’t Odin’s after all - perhaps he was covering for a general, and would deliver the child to him later. Eir could see Odin calling the child a Jotun out of spite or frustration, just to give the other man shame. 

But then again, Odin had changed a bit over the last few years. There was always time to be proven wrong. Eir supposed an orphaned Jotun runt - or, more likely a half breed, given the boy’s size - could grow into a liaison of some sort. In fact, such a liaison could be very valuable to the Allfather, deserving his attention. Though, if that were truly the case it would mean… 

Oh Norns. Eir lunged to grab the infant, as her mind calculated the worse case scenarios. Odin’s remaining eye grew wide in reaction, and Eir found her path blocked by him as Odin turned sideways, covering the child with his free hand. “Odin, hand me the baby, now.”

“Eir.”” Odin spoke cautiously yet firmly. “You must understand this boy could be the answer to a long standing peace between us and Jotunheim.”

Norns spare her, he thought she wanted to harm the Jotun. “That’s wonderful. Hand me the baby.” Her voice cracked. This night had been too long already. “My liege, if he is a Jotun runt he could be very sick. He is too small; his organs might crush themselves under their own weight. If you do not relinquish him right now your plans, whatever they are, might come to naught.”

His face turned sheepish. Good. Quickly but gently she took the child from Odin's yielding arms, and placed him in the soul forge, activating the safety railings to prevent the baby from rolling off. 

The baby wept instantly upon being laid down. Not unexpected. His medical needs were more important for now. Eir began calibrating the device.

Odin stepped beside her, almost out of her awareness at the moment. “How does Frigga fair?” Odin asked as he eyed the crying child.

Eir activated the soul forge. Her response was automatic. “The Allmother is well and you are father to a healthy boy.” Lights that were approximately the same shape as the infant hovered over the table.

“That is good to hear. How many people know that Frigga has given birth?” Odin folded his arms.

“Not many. It only happened last night.” Interesting. She could see Asgardian biological markers, even after verifying the machine’s calibration. Either this child was a half breed, or Odin’s spell had done something that would interfere with her readings. Of course, if the latter were true then Odin’s spell was concealing things that could kill the boy. “Might I see him in his natural form?”

Odin hesitated.

“I need to make sure nothing is interfering with the soul forge." 

“Surely, a healer of your prodigious skill does not need such a thing. The alterations I made to him are minimal.” 

Minimal indeed. She’ll be the judge of that. “Allfather, it has nothing to do with skill. My eye cannot pierce a stone wall. The soul forge can be fooled. Pull your spell away. I already know he’s a Jotun. Please.”

Odin paused a moment. “It will bring him pain.”

“My lord?”

“Ritual scarring. His skin was still raw when I found him. He needs my spell so he can heal without continued suffering.”

Eir felt a small prick of guilt. She had assumed the changes were a mere point of vanity. “Odin, where exactly did you find him?”

Odin paused for a moment, his eyes hiding calculations in his head. “Eir, this is Laufey’s son. I found him in the temple of Ymir, on a sacrificial altar.” He turned to face her. “They were going to kill him, Eir. I do not wish for him to suffer further because of their cruelty.” 

Eir stared up at Odin for a moment, letting the weight of Odin’s admission briefly overcome her training. She then closed her eyes and shook her head. “Odin, what you have said makes it more urgent that this child receives a proper scan.” She looked up again. “What if he has been poisoned? Or beaten and harmed internally? Let alone the question of his size. I cannot be sure your spell will protect him from organ failure.” 

Odin stared down at the baby. “Is there anything you can give him for the pain?”

“I don’t know.”

“Perhaps, if you had something on hand...”

“Allfather I have no idea what strain his organs are already under. If I give him any treatment without knowing that, it could hurt him. Allfather, please, I would not ask such a thing of you so lightly.”

That did it. Odin looked at Eir with a pained but resigned look. “Very well. Make haste.” Odin then ran his hands over the child, turning his skin blue. Inflamed welts rose over his head, curling in deceptively beautiful, malicious patterns, as the markings “The sacrificial son of Laufey” seemingly etched into his forehead. The child cried harder as pain set in, prompting Eir into an adrenaline-fueled rush of work. .

A few minutes of frantic work later, Eir turned the lights off the soul forge. “I’m done,” she said as Odin plucked the child off the forge. He gently stroked the baby as its skin returned to a more Asgardian hue.

“Is he well?” 

“He’s well.” She hesitated, but Odin needed to know. “He’s only half Jotun.” 

“Explain.” He started to raise his eyebrows, but winced in pain.

“It appears he has Asgardian blood as well. You can see it in the fact that he has hair follicles. This would explain his small size, and likely won’t cause any long term harm to him” Though he might be sterile, Eir thought. “Thankfully, he doesn’t have an enlarged heart - which truthfully was my biggest worry. We'll need to keep a close eye on that as he gets older.” 

Odin nodded. “The boy’s markings claim him as royalty.” His voice became somber. “Do you suppose Laufey kidnapped some hapless Asgardian woman?”

Eir cringed. “It is possible. Such blood sacrifices are known to fuel some spells. Though it's also possible that Queen Farbauti paid visits to the prisoners.”

Odin’s face blanched, but then smoothed. “I see. Well, it matters not either way. Laufey chose to claim him as his son.”

Eir raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Instead she walked to the doorway and called for a clean blanket and a wet nurse. Norns knew that the child had gone on too long without food.

“Eir, is there another way we could arrange a meal for him? Until I speak with Frigga and make arrangements for him, discretion is paramount.”

Eir waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, she’ll just assume that he belongs to one of the other servants and she’s too sick to feed him. Happens all the time. Besides, it is not out of place for a new mother to need a break from one of her twin boys. Now, as we wait, let me look at that missing eye.”

-

“Was the birthing long?” Odin asked, barely hiding discomfort as Eir probed his injured eye socket. .

“Not terribly. “Eir said. “She didn’t kill anyone.” 

Odin smiled, but drew his eyebrows together. “Did someone displease her?”

“Hold your face still.” Eir’s hands stilled. “Your son’s head is large.”

“Lady Eir, you're concealing information from your king.” 

Eir bit her tongue. “I might have had the guards take the Allmother’s sword away.”

Odin chuckled. “You dared!”

“She was swinging it around while the baby’s head was crowning. Something had to be done.”

Odin turned white. “Any injuries?”

“She didn’t harm anyone.” She lied. “Though a few egos might have been lost.” She grabbed an eyepatch and applied it to Odin’s face. “I can have an eye formed within the hour.”

“No. All must know the cost of this war.”

Eir nodded firmly. “Fortunately for you, no one has given the Allmother back her sword. Though she might have a knife or two hidden away. I would be careful of those when you tell her. It would be a pity to have you back in here for the other eye.”


	4. To The Cradle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's done!  
> Warning: Odin is quite arrogant in this chapter. He means well, but he's- well, he's Odin.

Odin made his way to Frigga's chambers, exhausted yet stoic - with a clean, fed, sleeping infant in his arms. The palace had begun to wake up, with the earliest risers of his servants bustling through the halls. Odin purposefully held his head upward, holding himself such as to avoid superfluous conversations. More than one person tried to catch a glimpse of the infant in his arms discreetly, which proved surprisingly effective in preventing most from noticing his now missing eye. He had to remember that they thought he was holding Thor. Best to keep that illusion until he could speak with Frigga. 

He both dreaded and longed to see Frigga, swinging wildly between the two feelings. The war had kept them apart for too long; her longing _must_ match his. And, somehow, he longed for her to love the child in his arms as he did. Surely she’d be thrilled to have two sons now - and perhaps she’d even be grateful to skip the violent act of childbirth with this son. He even briefly toyed with joking that he performed all the labor for this child. 

Another part of him knew he was delusional. He would be dead by sundown, or reduced to a babbling mass until Naglfar sets sail. If he was lucky, Frigga would be too furious to remember to make him suffer before his fall. 

Odin closed his remaining eye and shook his head. His head had already been taxed too far today between the war, lack of sleep, and the new strain on his sight. The possibility of Frigga tormenting him was one thought too many to deal with this morning. 

Odin paused for just a brief moment before quietly entering Frigga’s chambers. The room was dark with thin streams of sunlight sneaking in through the curtains. Both Frigga and the new baby were asleep, with his son in an ornate crib by the bedside. Odin smiled, recalling Eir’s retelling of the previous night. Frigga needed rest after her eventful delivery. 

Stepping carefully, almost reverently, Odin approached the crib where his long-expected child lay. He was a little surprised as his breath caught in his chest. Strange; he’d experienced this all before, but he should have known that his little Thor would be perfect. Every little twitch was still extraordinary, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest was unexplainably soothing. It was funny that Thor had been described as large. Bigger than other newborns the boy may be, but he was still tiny. 

Sleepily, Thor turned his head to the side and almost seemed to yawn aggressively. His face scrunched as he closed his mouth, and something about the expression reminded Odin of Frigga. The boy had Frigga’s hair - and lots of it. Was it lighter than her hair? No. That wasn’t it. Somehow there was no red on top of that head. Odin snorted softly to himself at the realization.

Hela had lots of hair too when she’d been a baby. She ended up with a bald patch on the back of her head that disappeared not long after she could crawl. Odin smiled at the bittersweet memory, even as he pushed down the pain, then shook his head. Hela had so much promise, as his son does now. He would do better with Thor. This small boy would be greater than his father and his legacy, he was sure of it.

Odin felt a small shift in his arms. Subconsciously he made sure that his arm was still under his foundling’s neck. Without looking, he could feel the gentle breathing of the baby in his arms. Already his adopted son was rising himself to a higher legacy, he realized. The boy’s continued existence was a demonstration of the contradiction that was children. They were always so fragile, yet strangely sturdy. To come so far, but only by the grace of others. 

The image appeared in his mind once again of Laufey brutalizing the child. He quickly pushed it to the back of his mind. The thought was too painful, too infuriating. Besides, he had revenge in his arms. If he played his cards right, Jotunheim would be desperate for better leadership, and this boy would be in the right position to be the best king Jotunheim had ever had. Odin ran his thumb over the baby cheek for a brief moment, and the baby’s eyes opened. Odin felt the same shiver of awe that he felt as he looked on Thor, and a tear filled his eye. "You'll be a good king,” he whispered, pausing briefly, “and a good brother." 

Frigga cracked one of her eyes open and smiled weakly at her husband. "As fond as I am of our son, I am not ready to make him a sibling.” Her eye closed again. “Nor am I yet prepared to entertain the thought." That last part had a playful edge to it. 

Odin straightened himself, in part to hide his panic. "I have merely noted the baby's virtues. I have yet to bring up the possibility of birthing more children.” Odin forced a sly smile on his face, fighting hard not to stammer like some simpleton. “That, my love was entirely you." Niflheim’s breath, she might not take to having a frost giant for a son. Well, if she objected on that account he’d just have to emphasize the baby’s more asgardian half and hope that she forgets about the boy’s colder bits.

Frigga smiled slyly. "At least you're pleased with him. If a bit overeager.” Frigga’s eyes opened more fully this time, and then narrowed them, “You’re missing an eye."

"Yes," He needed to focus and tell her... but he’d need to get her mind off the eye first. He forced a smirk on his face. "Yes, I’m pleased to see that you retain yours.”

Frigga slowly shook her head. "How droll. I’m glad to see small things still don’t slow you down. Do tell me you were wise enough to have the wound treated." 

“Of course. I heard quite the tale from our healer as well. Did the queen of Asgard truly brandish her sword as she pushed her son from her womb?”

It was Frigga’s turn to smirk. “It helped me to take my mind off the pain.” 

“Tell me truly. How many of our healers did you slay?” Odin put on a mock serious face as he stared at her. 

Frigga arched one eyebrow and gave him a crooked smile. “If I had slain any, you’d have been informed long before now.”

Odin looked down at the child in his arms. He couldn’t delay any longer. Perhaps if he sprang it on her quickly. “This one is handsome.” 

“He better be, I put a fair bit of work into him.” 

“Methinks you haven’t put much work into him.” Odin indicated to the baby in his arms. _Fool, Borson, just say it straight!_

Frigga pushed herself into a sitting position. “Odin. Allfather or not if you ever-”

Frigga’s escalating tirade stopped abruptly. Thor was crying, and the boy had impressive lungs. Frigga looked wearily at the crib, confused and dazed, as if to ask why Thor’s crying was sounding from way over there and not Odin’s arms. The look lasted only for a second, until it was replaced briefly by a slight look of shock, a snap glare of fury towards Odin, and then a mask of determination. Odin's lips parted a fraction. Without another hesitation, Frigga jumped and gathered Thor into her arms, returning back with him to the bed to care for his needs.

He swore internally. She was not happy. There was no use for it though; he just had to explain that this new child needed us both, and she would understand. He could still convince her that two children wouldn’t be too much, especially with the droves of servants at their command to help. But, norns, Thor’s cries were loud. 

Odin opened his mouth to speak, but Frigga interrupted his unspoken words. "Whose child have you brought to us so early, Allfather?" 

Odin gulped. “I found him after the battle.” Odin almost shouted as Frigga laid back down with an angry Thor in her arms. “I intend to take him in. I know this is much to require- but I can send for a nurse to aid you.”

“I imagine you have someone in mind.” Her voice, though also nearly shouting, somehow managed to sound falsely sweet as she lay Thor beside her. The small infant’s face was red with rage.

“Not as such. You could ask Eir for suggestions.”

“And if I chose to ask another?” She proffered her breast to her son, yet Thor's cries became louder. His head wobbled manically from side to side, as Frigga ran her fingers gently over the side of her weeping son’s face.

Odin frowned; he didn’t understand her complaints yet. But Thor’s crying was exasperating the headache that was emanating from his empty eye socket. “Frigga, if you have someone in mind then by all means.”

“Quite. In such matters my hand would be best. Yours will cause people to talk.”

“As you say.” Odin’s head was pounding to the rhythm of Thor’s crying, as the babe in his arms began squirming. He didn’t care who fed the boy as long it got done. “Your instincts might be better suited to this task.” 

“Truly? I’ve never known you to give up so.”

Something wasn’t right. “Giving up implies I had relinquished something. Is there someone you just presume I’ll select?”. Thor kept latching on to his mother’s breast then pulling away with an almighty screech. Meanwhile, the baby in Odin’s arms was making small squeaks, threatening to show off his own lungs soon. 

Odin blinked. Oh. Of course. He’s being accused of fathering the child. Idiot. Of course she'd think that. His headache was spreading; in-between his exhaustion and the crying, rational thought was becoming difficult. He didn’t have the energy to deal with veiled accusations of infidelity. 

It was ridiculous really. She should know that if he was going to cheat on her it would be out in the open, considering how openly he carried on with her while Hela’s mother was alive.

At any rate, his marriage to Hela’s mother had been forced upon him, and he was more than excited to end when the opportunity came. He’d picked Frigga. Surely that should be all that matters. 

Maybe if he acted coy she’d realize nothing like that happened. “I trust your judgement.”

“And if I chose not to get a nurse?”

“That is for you to decide.” He kept his face neutral. Thankfully, Thor finally seemed to be latching to his mother. 

“Is it?”

“Of course.” Odin eyed the hairbrush on the bedstand, wondering if that would be Frigga’s murder weapon. With his empty eye socket it could be particularly painful. The only question was if Thor would still be feeding when he died. “Why would you think otherwise?”

“You bring me that child within hours of bearing you a son. Methinks my choices are few.”

Odin took in a sharp breath as his arms trembled. “ _This child_ is-” 

His next words were drowned out as the child in his arms committed to a loud prolonged cry - which prompted Thor to respond in full. It was a discordant concouphany of needs he couldn’t fulfill, and each demand writhed under his skin. He looked down at his foundling, and realized his trembling was terrorizing the boy.

Odin forced his body to act calm. The Allfather repositioned the baby so that his head was leaning against Odin’s shoulder, and he gently rubbed the boy’s back. “I’m sorry.” For a moment he thought he saw Frigga’s eyes soften, but when he caught her eyes the hostility was there in full force. 

Both focused on calming the child in their arms. Perhaps he ought to take his foundling out of the room to stop his sons from aggravating each other. Perhaps it would help Frigga’s mood; she seemed to be taking special care not to look in his direction. He shifted his weight to turn around, but then both boys began to calm. Eventually their cries whittled down into sporadic sobs. Soon enough Thor had calmed down enough to begin eating again. 

“You were saying?” Frigga looked surprisingly worn despite the bite in her voice. “I believe you were saying something about the errant child in your arms.”

For a moment Odin couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say. Though explaining that to Frigga might be an exercise in futility.

“Well, my liege?”

“The things this child has suffered, no child should.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your skill at misdirection and deceit are not welcome this hour.”

“I do not seek to deceive you. Only to beseech you. My weakness was not found in the arms of another. This boy has the royal blood of Jotunheim. Only we can properly care for him.”

She huffed. “And what am I to say? It seems you’ve already decided.”

She did not believe him. The image of the infant’s naturally blue skin flashed in his mind. The echo of pained screams was the only thing that stopped him from unveiling the boy’s true form.

“I wish...” Odin paused. What did he want? He could order Frigga to accept this baby; she would comply, even if it meant years of her acting as she had this morning. But it wouldn’t be true acceptance. “I wish for what I cannot compel.”

Frigga clenched her jaw as a tear welled in her eye.

“I wish for you to accept this boy as your own.”

“Then be honest with me.” Frigga said in almost a whisper. “Maybe I’ll even forgive your wandering eyes.”

“Frigga, my eyes have remained steady. You are so bright that I cannot see another.”

“I am not always with you.” She picked up Thor and began burping him.

“But I have seen you. No lesser light would do.”

She looked away, pretending she was focused on thumping a burp out of Thor. “Any other time your words would please me.” She looked anguished. “But I cannot accept them.”

“And what would you accept?” His gut twisted with the thought that he might have to show her.

Her eyes became as hard as uru as she looked upon him. “For you to lay aside your pride for one moment and grant me the truth.”

Odin’s heart felt as though his chest had been hollowed out with the fires of Muspelheim. 

“Odin.” Her voice cracked with pain. Her regal facade all but peeled away. 

He twisted his face into what he expected was a pleading look. Only she could bring him so low. She answered with a stoney face, a clenched jaw, and an angry tear. Her eyes proclaimed disappointment and betrayal. Frigga turned her head back down as she lay Thor back down next to her. 

In that moment Odin knew there was no recourse. There was no other way. Oh norns, there was really no other way. 

He could feel his breathing become uneven. Odin looked at the helpless boy in his arms and croaked. “Forgive me.” He held the child out, making sure that Frigga would be able to get a very good, clear look. Odin then waived his free hand over the boy, and pink quickly gave way to blue. The hateful scars became visible, etching out each of the ritual marks and words forced onto the infant’s skin. And the scream. Odin almost expected his palace to split in two at the sound of such pain. In moments one scream became two as another infant became terrified at the sound of agony. 

Odin looked up at Frigga, and saw her eyes fill with surprise and terror as her jaw dropped. For a moment she seemed transfixed, a part of her disbelieving what she saw, though in a surprisingly gentle motion she managed to cover Thor’s ears. Odin could see her eyes drinking in every inch of the horror that had been laid out before her. Her breath became ragged as her eyes flicked over each rune. Odin thought he saw her mouth the wording of the sacrifice runes, and her lips seemed to become bloodless at the utterance. “Stop!” Frigga finally said, with a clear effort. 

Odin placed the spell back. Blue skin faded again to pink, and the wounds once again disappeared, hopefully for the last time. 

Odin couldn’t help but shoot Frigga a challenging glare. Frigga, for her part, seemed to be ignoring him and focusing on a terrified Thor instead. “It’s alright.” She whispered. “I won’t let that happen again.” 

Odin resisted the urge to point out that it was her fault. He had his own screaming child to comfort. Besides, he could tell that he had won. Now was time to move past fault finding - even if, he noticed with some anger, the infant in his arms remained on edge even as the weeping slowed. 

After several moments of tempestuous calm, Frigga slowly placed Thor in his crib. On slightly unsteady feet, she walked over to Odin and took the infant from his arms, holding him gently. Her thumb ran over the little boy’s face, and Odin felt himself sag in relief. That relief was short lived, though... did she murmur something about avenging the boy? Well, he understood exactly what she was feeling. “That won’t work… We need to keep the peace in Jotunheim until Lauffey’s power dwindl-”

_Thwack!_ Odin stumbled back, dazed by the sudden ringing and the moving of the floor beneath him. His head… He blinked. Frigga had actually slapped him! And, she’d managed to knock him onto the ground. Reckless seid-kona! First she demands the truth, and then she slaps him for it. What more will she require of him, a sacrifice of his remaining eye? He could sympathize with Frigga’s childbirth pains affecting her judgment, but he'd have to put the line firmly down over this overstep. 

_Croak!_

Oh. Of course. That explains the disorientation, and the floor. Rather creative of her, catching him off guard like that. Odin couldn’t help but feel impressed. At least he wasn’t dead… yet.

Frigga glanced back at him with a malicious smile as she climbed back on her bed with her new son.Her smile became gentle as she looked back at their new baby, seeming to ignore the new pest in the room.

Odin’s admiration quickly turned back to fury, and he made a rumbling noise in an attempt to make intelligible speech - if angry shouting can be called such. Perhaps if he could curve his tongue just right - _Croak!_ Nay. It seemed that frogs weren’t made for intelligent speech, even if guided by someone as powerful as him.

He could feel his body heat dissipating. If this carried on too long he’d get sluggish. He probed the spell with his own magic, searching for a weakness. He could feel the edges of the spell; there were crags within the spell for him to get a foothold and undo it. However, the spell was still like a large stone wall and it would take hours to dismantle without her help. 

Frigga gave a wide grin towards her new son as she started to play with his toes. “Now,” she said to the baby, tapping his nose. “I want you to remember that your _mother_ is the reliable one.” 

Odin tried to throw himself onto the bed to find some form of revenge for this indignity. Instead, he missed, launched himself too hard, and slammed his face into the side of the bed - landing on the cold floor.

“Hmm. You’ll need a crib. You can’t sleep next to your brother.” Frigga said, without a glance towards Odin, “Should I let your father get back on two legs so he can do it?” She rubbed her nose against the infant’s nose. “Or should we take care of it ourselves?” 

  
  


Epilogue

“I intend to name him Balder.” Odin brushed the dirt and wrinkles from his robe, trying in vain to reclaim his dignity. It had taken an annoying amount of time to regain his strength from that spell. Nonetheless, now that Frigga had calmed down and released him from that childish spell, he had finally been able to restore some order. 

“I warned you he’d try to name you Balder.” Frigga smiled at their newest son. “Don’t worry; I’ll protect you.”

“It’s a fine name!" Odin retorted. 

“I knew a Balder once, and he was a useless dandy.” She tilted her head and kissed the top of the baby’s head. “But we both know that Hoder is a better fit. Don’t we?”

Speaking of protecting his son from unfortunate names. “Hoder does not suit him. His eyes bespeak it.” Unfortunately, he’d have to give up Balder if he was to save him from being called Hoder. He started approaching so he could stand near Frigga. “Perhaps Meili.”

Frigga wrinkled her nose. “Hermod.”

“I wish him to be respected, Frigga. Tyr.”

“Our general has a big enough head as it is. Loki.”

Hmph. Finally, she suggests a name that isn’t objectionable. He _could_ live with the name. “I find no fault with the name… but I like the name Semingr better.”

“No. Loki suits him.”

“Fine. Then Loki he shall be.” He reached down and ran a gentle hand over the top of Loki’s head. He ruefully smiled.

Odin still had the simple task of acquiring a new cradle. Hopefully, no one asked why they hadn’t gotten a second cradle earlier.

**Author's Note:**

> Up next: Odin realises that he needs to talk to Frigga about taking in Loki.


End file.
